A version of this story was posted on Facebook on February 24th, 2014.

There’s an older man who lives in my building just down the hall from me. If we’ve told each other our name, I don’t remember doing it.

I’ve seen him in Covington, Kentucky ever since I’ve lived here. Even in the spring and summer, he always wears a lot of clothes. He sort of has a mean look on his face a lot of the time. I’ve been told that myself in my life, but I’m not mean and he’s not either.

It used to be the man would walk around in Covington on crutches. Now, he’s in a wheelchair.

He’s an odd one when it comes to that chair of his. He never uses his arms and hands to get those wheels moving. He shuffles around in it with his feet. Those feet are always moving. He’s a fast shuffler.

When we had all that snow earlier this month, I’d see him outside shuffling out there on Madison Avenue, right there in the street in his wheelchair, cars going around him. It made me nervous to watch, but he was just doing what he had to do.

He has a bit of a southern accent to him. He’s always as nice to me as he can be and he never whines about his situation. Never. I can probably learn a thing or two from him, but first, I need to find out his name.